Fritz Lang, the director, was quite a guy -- the last of the red hot authoritarians. He strode around the set in riding breeches and boots, a monocle in his eye, shouting orders in a German accent through his megaphone. He carried a sinister quirt.
He made a silent feature in Germany, "Metropolis", that stands out from all the others of its type. When asked by the Nazis to head their film propaganda program, he told them he was "tickled pink" and he and his wife were on the next airplane to Hollywood, where he turned out a couple of splendid films noir and a few interesting mystery dramas, even a war movie of some merit.
I have no idea why he consented to direct this irredeemable piece of crap. Most of the budget must have gone to Marlene Dietrich and Lang himself. (Maybe that's the reason.) It's a sort of rip off of Lang's "The Big Heat," in which a man's beloved is traumatized and the man spends the rest of the movie grimly seeking revenge.
Unlike "The Big Heat," which at least let us see some cloying moments between Glenn Ford and his happy wife, we don't really get to know Arthur Kennedy's fiancée in this movie. But the revenge motive is equally strong. Instead of being blown apart, Kennedy's amour is "outraged" before she is shot to death in a hold up.
Kennedy, just an ordinary cow poke, hunts them down alone, from Wyoming to Dietrich's ranch near the Mexican border. I'm always puzzled when I see some footloose wanderer, just aroamin' around, looking for somebody or something. It's a long way from Wyoming to Mexico on horseback, stopping frequently to ask questions. Kennedy started on his unplanned journey with nothing but the clothes on his back. Where did he get the money? I mean, okay, he sleeps out under the stars with his saddle for a pillow. But how about in town? When the hotel desk clerk asks for payment, into what stash does Kennedy reach? And how did he come to be such an accomplished gunslinger after only a little practice? But why ask such questions? The movie is strictly routine. It's studio bound. The acting is sometimes execrable but even the better performers can't overcome the script. The infrequent attempts at humor fail. And you should hear the tawdry theme song.
This is not Fritz Lang territory. He's stranded in the desert here, staggering about, desperate for relief from the heat, a sip of water, an aromatic whiff of smog, a Wiener Schnitzel.
He made a silent feature in Germany, "Metropolis", that stands out from all the others of its type. When asked by the Nazis to head their film propaganda program, he told them he was "tickled pink" and he and his wife were on the next airplane to Hollywood, where he turned out a couple of splendid films noir and a few interesting mystery dramas, even a war movie of some merit.
I have no idea why he consented to direct this irredeemable piece of crap. Most of the budget must have gone to Marlene Dietrich and Lang himself. (Maybe that's the reason.) It's a sort of rip off of Lang's "The Big Heat," in which a man's beloved is traumatized and the man spends the rest of the movie grimly seeking revenge.
Unlike "The Big Heat," which at least let us see some cloying moments between Glenn Ford and his happy wife, we don't really get to know Arthur Kennedy's fiancée in this movie. But the revenge motive is equally strong. Instead of being blown apart, Kennedy's amour is "outraged" before she is shot to death in a hold up.
Kennedy, just an ordinary cow poke, hunts them down alone, from Wyoming to Dietrich's ranch near the Mexican border. I'm always puzzled when I see some footloose wanderer, just aroamin' around, looking for somebody or something. It's a long way from Wyoming to Mexico on horseback, stopping frequently to ask questions. Kennedy started on his unplanned journey with nothing but the clothes on his back. Where did he get the money? I mean, okay, he sleeps out under the stars with his saddle for a pillow. But how about in town? When the hotel desk clerk asks for payment, into what stash does Kennedy reach? And how did he come to be such an accomplished gunslinger after only a little practice? But why ask such questions? The movie is strictly routine. It's studio bound. The acting is sometimes execrable but even the better performers can't overcome the script. The infrequent attempts at humor fail. And you should hear the tawdry theme song.
This is not Fritz Lang territory. He's stranded in the desert here, staggering about, desperate for relief from the heat, a sip of water, an aromatic whiff of smog, a Wiener Schnitzel.